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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230693">we remember them all with equal affection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seibelsays/pseuds/seibelsays'>seibelsays</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cemetery, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:20:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,038</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seibelsays/pseuds/seibelsays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Becca Barnes always tended the family graves. With the weather so cold this year, the responsibility falls to Bucky. He has complicated feelings about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we remember them all with equal affection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For my Bucky Barnes Bingo square: It Wasn't Worth It</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky leapt up, deftly scaling the fence and leaping over to the other side. He landed softly and froze, in case the movement drew any eyes. It was unlikely, in this area and at this time of night, but one could never be too careful. He slowly straightened up, checking the packages stowed in his jacket were still secure. </p><p>He winced. They might be a little more crushed than he’d intended. </p><p>Nothing for it now. He slowly and deliberately moved away from the fence and further onto the property. He had the entire layout memorized, of course, but the shadows made by the cold moonlight skewed the landscape just enough to trip up his memory. He pushed the distraction aside, focusing on the map in his head, on his mission. Just a little further, and he would reach his destination and could do what he came here to do.</p><p>He paused at the tree, using the trunk as cover to double check his surroundings. All looked clear. He turned, the tree being the last landmark before he reached his destination. A few more steps and he slowed to a stop. He looked down, double checking that he was in the right place, then placed one of his packages at the base of a stone. A few steps more, another package. He skipped the next stone entirely, refusing to even look at it, then came to a stop at the last stone in the row.</p><p>This was it. His breath stuttered, an anxious feeling crawling up his spine in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.</p><p>“Hi Mom,” he whispered, his breath creating a billowing cloud in the air as he spoke. He pulled the last package from his jacket and carefully unwrapped it, two petals slowly fluttering to the ground as he pulled the roses from the paper they’d been wrapped in. He winced at the sight of the slightly crushed roses and cursed. </p><p>Mentally, of course. He wasn’t about to use that sort of language in front of his mother’s grave.</p><p>He crouched down in front of the stone, reaching out for balance, and frowned as he took in the grave’s appearance. He brushed a little snow off of the face, clearing the name etched into the marble. There were the remnants of dead flowers and more than a few weeds. He glanced around, carefully avoiding looking at the stone immediately to his left, but checking the other nearby graves, of Katie, of his dad, of the others that were nearby. None were so overgrown as Winnifred Barnes and her family. </p><p>He was a bad son.</p><p>Bucky sighed. Becca was so much better at this than he was. </p><p>
  <em>The twig snapped under his foot as he hid behind the tree. The older woman turned at the sound, a little unsteady on her feet but her eyes sharp as ever. He didn’t dare move, hoping that she wouldn’t notice him. But his baby sister had never missed a thing in her life. Their eyes met and she gasped.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Jimmy?” she whispered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Resigned, he moved out from behind the tree. “Hey Becks.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She stared at him, taking in his appearance - so different from the last time they’d met, even if he’d barely aged in all that time. She glanced down at their mother’s grave, then back to him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, given that I’m not hovering over my own body, is it safe to assume I’m not dead?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He nodded.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She smiled. “You’re late, you know.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m so sorry, Becks.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Get over here and help me.”</em>
</p><p>Bucky smiled at the memory. All his training, all the life he’d lived, and Becca still ended up the unflappable one. One look at him and she saw immediately what he needed - a firm kick in the ass to do something besides wallow. So she pulled him to the ground with her and started showing him which green bits were weeds that needed pulling and which could stay. She told him the cemetary’s rules on wreaths and flowers and when they could be left and when they needed to be collected. She told him how often she needed to come back to make sure things didn’t get too overgrown and that now that he was here, she fully expected him to join her.</p><p>Once upon a time, he’d taught her how to ride a bike and to throw a punch. Now, she was teaching him to be a dutiful son again. </p><p>But this year, well. It was awfully cold out this year and Becca’s breathing wasn’t what it used to be. Even if he <em>had</em> managed to sneak her out of the nursing home, she wouldn’t have lasted long out here. But she had insisted he come anyway. </p><p>He wasn’t going to. He had no intentions of doing this without his sister.</p><p>But as the weeks went by and the days grew shorter, he just couldn’t bring himself to think that his mother’s grave would go without flowers at Christmas.</p><p>Of course, by the time he made that realization and found a florist that was open and actually decided on what flowers to bring, it was long past the cemetary’s closing time. So he’d improvised. It wasn’t like he made a habit of hopping a fence when there was a perfectly serviceable public entrance.</p><p>Okay, maybe that last part was a lie, but still. He <em>could</em> have waited until tomorrow. It wasn’t like anyone would know either way if he brought flowers today or tomorrow or a year from now or never came back at all.</p><p>But he would. He would know. And after a lifetime of deeds he was learning to live with, this was one he couldn’t.</p><p>He’d promised his sister after all. So here he was.</p><p>After the weeds and dead flowers were sufficiently removed, Bucky gently picked up the roses from the top of the stone and laid them at the base. </p><p>“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he said.</p><p>He sat quietly for a bit, wondering what she might have thought or said if she could see him today. His eyes drifted to the left without his permission, finally landing on the grave he’d been avoiding. The grave he <em>always</em> avoided when he came here. The one that was easier to avoid when he was with Becca, because she kept up a steady stream of chatter while they worked, and because she always casually tossed the weeds so they hit that grave, covering it just a little. Even if it was meticulously cleared just like the rest the next time they came.</p><p>
  <em>James Buchanan Barnes</em>
</p><p>His breath stuttered at the sight of the stone his family had bought for him, when they’d gotten word, the way it always did. The stone that they’d paid for, when the government wouldn’t. When he was just yet another name on a too-long list. When he wasn’t actually dead, but worse.</p><p>It wasn’t worth it. Nothing that he’d ever done or ever would do, would make him the son and brother that his family mourned. Whatever they’d paid, whatever they’d thought - it wasn’t worth it. <em>He</em> wasn’t worth it.</p><p>He wasn’t ready to do this. He should have waited until tomorrow. He shouldn’t have come alone.</p><p>“Bucky?”</p><p>He turned at the sound of his name. Climbing up the hill, bundled in wool against the cold, was Darcy Lewis.</p><p>He stood and hurriedly attempted to brush the dirt and discarded weeds off of his pants.</p><p>“You left without me,” Darcy said, panting a little with the exertion and the cold.</p><p>“Without you?”</p><p>“Yeah. When you said you were coming to visit, I was going to come with you.”</p><p>Bucky gaped at her, at a loss, a thousand questions springing to mind, but only one that made itself known. “Why?”</p><p>Darcy shrugged. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” She looped her arm through his and tugged him gently back to his mother’s grave. “Nice pick on the flowers.”</p><p>“Becca’s better at this stuff,” he muttered.</p><p>“Little sisters always are. But you did great.”</p><p>They stood in like that for a bit, Darcy offering her silent support as she stood at his side. He thought his mom would have liked her. Becca certainly did. Becca saw it before he had and had practically thumped him when things between him and Darcy were moving at a glacier’s pace.</p><p>
  <em>“I’m not going to be around forever you know. Someone has to look after you - you’re too busy looking after everyone else!”</em>
</p><p>He pulled his arm free of Darcy’s so he could pull her into his side, wrapping his arm around her frame and tucking her safe against him. He could tell the exact moment she noticed it, her posture going rigid as she found the stone just to the left of where they were standing.</p><p>“James Barnes, did you throw a clump of dead plant matter at your own grave?”</p><p>He sighed. “Well, it’s not like it’s the only one.”</p><p>Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Oh? You threw more than one clump of dead plant matter at your grave?”</p><p>“There’s more than one empty casket with my name on it.”</p><p>“Oh.” Darcy paused and considered this. “Arlington?”</p><p>“No, surprisingly,” Bucky replied. “You see, only Steve Rogers and James Barnes died - Captain American and Bucky were still useful, according to certain people. So the military held a service at some other cemetery and recast the roles. My family did this,” he said, nodding at the stone sitting so innocuously next to his mother’s. </p><p>“Family plot?” Darcy asked. “Who else is here?”</p><p>“Mom, Dad. My sister Katherine. Mary’s buried with her husband in Indiana. Becca…” his voice trailed off as his throat went dry at the thought. “Becca will be here. Eventually.”</p><p>Darcy nodded. She remained quiet, leaving him with his thoughts. He wished she wouldn’t, but her steady presence next to him did more to help than he could possibly ever express.</p><p>Becca was right. He was an idiot. </p><p>He was never, <em>ever</em> telling her that. He was still her big brother, after all.</p><p>“I’m glad they’re together,” Darcy whispered. “And I’m sure it helped, thinking that you were here too. Even if you weren’t, even if they knew that, even if the details weren’t quite right. Sometimes it still helps.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He looked at the stone his family had placed for him. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to look at it without feeling some sort of acid in his stomach. But maybe Darcy was right - maybe that wasn’t the point. Maybe the point was that this stone helped his family when he couldn’t. </p><p>He looked down at Darcy, who was valiantly attempting not to shiver. “Come on, let’s get you somewhere warm.” He eyed her coat and her long dress. They weren’t exactly fence-hopping material. “How did you even get here anyway?”</p><p>She rolled her eyes at him. “I <em>drove</em>. Through the front gate.”</p><p>“But the cemetery closes at sunset.”</p><p>“They don’t lock the gate, Bucky.”</p><p>He paused. “I really am an idiot.”</p><p>“Well, I wasn’t going to say so in front of your family, but. Yeah.”</p><p>He laughed, the oppressive feeling that had made a home in his chest evaporating. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“Coffee?” Darcy asked hopefully.</p><p>He turned and wrapped his arm around Darcy’s shoulders. “I’ll take you to a pancake house.”</p><p>“You have a strange affinity for pancake houses.”</p><p>He glanced over his shoulder, back at his family. </p><p>“Should we snap a photo, so we can show Becca how good you did?” Darcy’s tone was innocent. Too innocent.</p><p>“She asked you for a report, didn’t she.”</p><p>“Kinda.”</p><p>Bucky sighed and dug his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Darcy. “Go wild.”</p><p>Darcy grinned, then nodded at the graves. “Get over there. Otherwise she’s going to think <em>I</em> did all this to get you out of trouble.”</p><p>Bucky did as he was told and moved back to his mom’s grave. He crouched down, his eyes lingering on the name etched into the stone.</p><p>
  <em>Winnifred Barnes</em>
</p><p>He looked back at Darcy. Yeah, his mother would have liked her.</p><p>Darcy grinned at him and held up the phone. “Okay. One, two, three. Smile!”</p><p>And he did.</p>
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